


A Secret Garden

by subtlehysteria



Series: Cinderella AU [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Fluff, M/M, these two are so gone for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 00:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14988740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtlehysteria/pseuds/subtlehysteria
Summary: “Welcome,” Keith says, holding the door open for the boy.He smiles, walking through the doorway and pulling Keith along with him. They still haven’t let go of one another’s hands.The boy turns on the spot (as best he can holding Keith’s hand), looking up at the crumbling stone walls covered in ivy, the rows upon rows of flowers fading into the grass. They all lead to the swirling roots of a giant willow tree in the center. One gigantic nebula of nature, like someone stirring cream into their coffee.“A secret garden,” the boy says, voice breathy, light as a cloud.*Keith shows the mysterious blue boy his secret childhood garden. But what other secrets may unfold?





	A Secret Garden

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to May I Have This Dance, this time in Keith's POV! Again, inspired by @kiilea's amazing [ Klance Cinderella AU ](http://kiilea.tumblr.com/post/173110770286/courage-and-kindness-a-cinderellaau-commission)

Keith must be dreaming.

The boy, the boy from the forest is here and Keith just danced with him. He’s real, not a figment of his imagination, not a spirit nor a fairy.

He wants to say something. “That was amazing.” “You danced wonderfully.” “You’re beautiful.” But before he can decide which is the most appropriate, the orchestra strikes up once more and a jovial song begins, far more upbeat than the romantic lullaby that was their first waltz.

They start the dance, the boy’s slender hands in his, unable to move when the crowd floods the dance floor. As the dance continues, however, Keith slowly leads them to the outer circle.

“Come with me,” he whispers into the boy’s ear. The boy nods, giving a small, but knowing smile.

Keith leads them to one of the hidden doors that opens up to an antechamber. There are multiple doorways like this in the palace, allowing its occupants a quick escape in case of an emergency. Whether or not a slide was needed from the top to the third floor Keith will never know (although it was still fun to take it to his history lessons every once in a while).

Once they’ve safely disappeared into the antechamber, Keith closes the door behind them, making sure that they haven’t caught anyone’s attention.

The boy’s hand slips from his. He instantly wants to take it back.

“You’re the prince!” the boy exclaims. His chest is rising and falling in quick succession, most likely from the dancing.

“Not _the_ ,” Keith says, moving away from the door and coming to meet the boy in the center of the room.

“What?” the boy asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Well, I’m _a_ prince. It’s not like I’m the only one in the world.”

The boy arches a clever brow, his mouth tilting into a sly grin. “Hm, I suppose.”

He moves away from Keith, taking a slow stroll around the room. There are two servants here, both looking impeccable (and slightly ridiculous, in Keith’s opinion) in their red and silver uniforms. When he’s king, he wants to change their required uniform into something less… frivolous. More comfortable.

The boy spins on his heel, facing Keith as he walks backwards. “And is your name really Keith?” he asks.

“Yes,” Keith says, following from a safe distance. He doesn’t trust himself not to do something stupid, like take the boy’s hand, swipe his thumb along his knuckles, perhaps even kiss his palm… no. No, too soon. It’s too soon for something like that.

“And you’re not an apprentice.” It isn’t a question. Keith answers anyway.

“Technically I am. An apprentice monarch.”

“A mapprentice,” the boy supplies.

Keith huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, yes, a mapprentice.”

The boy smiles, pleased. He turns to face forwards once more only to come to an immediate standstill.

Keith peers over the boy’s shoulder, trying to spot what he is looking at.

“That’s a very handsome portrait,” the boy says.

“Ah,” Keith says, walking up to the boy’s side. He keeps his hands firmly clasped behind his back. “My uncle insisted. It’s a custom to have portraits sent out to potential suitors.” He tries to hide his wry smile, although by the look the boy gives him, he isn’t doing a very good job.

“It’s quite the likeness,” he says, looking between the painting and Keith. Keith tries not to fidget under the boy’s careful consideration.

“However,” the boy continues, squinting at the portrait. “The painter didn’t really capture your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“Hm.” The boy turns to face Keith fully. He leans in a little, peering deeply into Keith’s eyes. All Keith can do is remain still and hope the boy can’t hear the frantic beating of his heart. “Yes,” the boy says, almost to himself. “They painted your eyes a navy blue when really, they’re indigo. And far more intelligent.”

Keith swallowed thickly. “I – uh. Thank you?”

The boy smiles, leaning back on his heels and swaying a little. “You’re welcome.” Keith really hoped the light dusting of pink upon the boy’s cheeks isn’t just his wishful thinking.

The boy looks up once more at the painting, a wistful look in his own eyes. “No one’s ever painted my portrait,” he whispers.

“They should,” Keith blurts.

The boy turns, mouth slightly parted. “Flatterer,” he says.

Keith grins. “Would you like a tour of the gardens?”

“Won’t you be missed?” The boy nods back to the door. The muffled sounds of chatter and cellos can be heard, even through the heavy oak.

“It’s only for a little while,” Keith shrugs. “And I’m in need of some fresh air.” _Please say yes._

The boy folds his arms, a finger tapping his chin in thought. “Hmmm… alright,” he says, a cheeky smile spreading across his face. “But I want the full tour, no slacking.”

Keith smiles, offering his arm. “I promise, no slacking.”

The boy hesitates but when he locks eyes with Keith, he nods and takes Keith’s proffered arm.

“Then lead the way.”

 

*

 

“Oh my goodness! You didn’t!”

Keith nods, trying to hide his embarrassed smile. “Yeah. My uncle wasn’t very impressed with me.”

The boy smothers his giggles with his hand. Keith wants to reach out, take it away, desperate to see that smile.

“What about you,” Keith says instead. “Any embarrassing childhood stories to rival mine?”

The boy drops his hand. His smile falters. “Not really embarrassing,” he says, quiet. “But there were some fun moments. My mother died when I was quite young, but we still had some beautiful times together before she passed.” Immediately the words “I’m sorry,” bubble on Keith’s lips. He bites his tongue, refuses to let them slip. He knows how meaningless those words are. Has heard them hundreds of time in relation to his own parents. It didn’t do anything except fill the awkward space between “they’re gone” and “what were they like”. The boy doesn’t wait for Keith to say them, however, continuing. Keith listens, never interrupts.

“She… she saw the world in such a spectacular way, you’d think she was daydreaming all the time.” He looks to Keith, a softness to his face that Keith can only describe as melancholy. The boy looks away, turning his attention to an over-trimmed bush of flowers Keith can’t remember the name of. “People used to say I did too.”

“And now?” Keith asks.

The boy seems lost for a moment, fingering the petals of a particularly small flower. It’s puny and duller than its surrounding brothers and sisters. But when the boy touches his fingers to those petals, it’s almost as if the flower glows, the moonlight suddenly hitting it perfectly. A magic touch. This boy must be magic.

“Only occasionally,” the boy says, oblivious to Keith’s impending heart attack. “When I’m in need of a distraction.”

Keith wants to ask more but at the same time, he can see that the boy’s shoulders have slumped, his head bowed low so that the longer pieces of his fringe come loose from their perch behind his ear.

Keith wants to tuck it back for him, can feel his hand inching towards him. He lets it drop, however.

“I want to show you something,” he says.

The boy’s head pops up. “You’re already showing me something,” he says. He throws his arms wide, indicating the garden around them.

“Yes, but… this something is special.”

Keith watches as the melancholy melts away, replaced by an inquisitive arch of the brow, the smallest of smiles.

“Alright,” the boy says. He takes Keith’s hand. “Show me the way.”

Keith holds back a gasp at the contact. He’d held the boy’s hand multiple times tonight, and yet it was more and more thrilling each time. He could feel the light pitter-patter of their pulses beating against one another where their wrists met. _If we were to stay like this_ , Keith wonders, _would our heartbeats match?_

“Follow me,” he says catching his bearings. He pulls the boy off the path and away from the prying eyes of the servants.

“Where are we going?” the boy asks, looking about at the different sculptures made of rose bushes. There are the general shapes, rabbits, orbs etc. Although Keith’s favourite is the lion. The boy’s eye catches on it. He stops a moment, considering it before starting up again, smiling a little.

They walk in companionable silence, letting the nightlife do the talking.

Finally, they come to the archway.

“Mind your head,” Keith says, ducking below the overhanging vines. The boy walks straight through them, however, allowing the leaves to brush his face.

“What?” he asks when he realises Keith is staring. Keith ducks his head, hiding behind his fringe.

“Um, nothing,” he stutters. “This way.”

They walk down the make-shift path made from years of Keith trekking through the secret alcoves, searching for fairies in favour of being taught geography. When he tells the boy as much, he giggles.

“I did much the same,” he says, “although mama would come trampling along with me.”

Again, Keith finds himself wanting to ask more. _Where are you from? What were your parents like? What is your_ _name?_ With all of these questions whizzing through his head, he almost walks past the door.

“Ah,” he says, coming to a stop. The boy bumps into him

 _Huh_ , Keith thinks, blinking up at the boy. _He’s slightly taller than me._

He scrabbles for the door handle, refusing to tear his eyes away from the boy’s. They were just so… blue. All those years of learning English, of synonyms and adjectives and all he can come up with is blue.

“Welcome,” he says, holding the door open for the boy.

He smiles, walking through the doorway and pulling Keith along with him. They still haven’t let go of one another’s hands.

The boy turns on the spot (as best he can holding Keith’s hand), looking up at the crumbling stone walls covered in ivy, the rows upon rows of flowers fading into the grass. They all lead to the swirling roots of a giant willow tree in the center. One gigantic nebula of nature, like someone stirring cream into their coffee.

“A secret garden,” the boy says, voice breathy, light as a cloud.

Keith nods. “It belonged to my parents, and now it belongs to me.”

The boy pulls Keith along with him as he takes a promenade around the garden, brushing his hands across the moss-covered walls, gently caressing the petals of flowers.

“Mariposas!” he says, rushing to the clump of flowers. He drags Keith with him, nearly causing Keith to trip in the process. “Sorry,” he says, bashful. “It’s just, they’re my favourite.” He proceeds to lean in, inhaling the vanilla and cinnamon scent of the flower. When he pulls back, there is pollen dusting his nose

Keith chuckles.

“What?” the boy asks.

“You have some –” Keith points to his own nose.

The boy wriggles his nose, scrunching it up. His eyes go skew as he tries to see what Keith is indicating. _Cute._

“Here, let me –” Keith reaches out, brushing away the pollen and wiping it on the grass (his seamstress would stick him with her sewing needles if he messed anything on his new breeches).

The boy sneezes. Why did Keith find that so endearing?

Keith has to physically hold himself back from leaning in then, pressing his lips to that beautiful boy’s. Would they be as soft as they looked?

“Is that a swing?”

Keith blinks out of his reverie. “What?”

The boy is already pulling him up, moving towards the willow tree. Hanging from its strongest bough is an old wooden swing. Keith used to sit in his mother’s lap, squealing as she swung higher and higher into the air until they were almost flying. It is one of the few memories he still has of her, after all this time.

The boy looks at it with wonder, as if it were the first time he’d ever seen a swing.

“Would you like to?” Keith finds himself asking.

“I shouldn’t,” the boy says, biting his bottom lip.

“You should,” Keith counters.

The boy gives him a challenging look. “I shouldn’t,” he repeats.

“You should.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You should."

“I will!” the boy proclaims, lifting his chin defiantly.

Keith sweeps his arm out. “Then dear sir, have at it.”

The boy shakes his head, a smile curling his lips, before taking a seat. Unfortunately, he has to let go of Keith’s hand, but when he looks at Keith over his shoulder, shyly asking, “Can you give me a push?” Keith is more than happy to oblige.

He presses off the small of the boy’s back, softly at first and then with a little more force to get his momentum going. The boy closes his eyes, leaning far back until his hair brushes the grass. Suddenly, he opens his eyes, grinning at Keith as he hangs upside down.

Keith wants to say something. Needs to say something. “I –”

“Oh!”

The boy plants his feet firmly on the ground, causing himself to come to a sudden halt. His hand brushes the arch of his right ear, his eyes searching.

“My earpiece fell,” he says.

Keith looks about and finds it tucked between two protruding tree roots. He picks it up, coming around to face the boy. The boy looks up as Keith offers it and Keith can’t help the burning blush spreading from his cheeks all the way down his neck because this boy is so beautiful. The moonlight is shining through some of the cracks in the walls, causing a slant of light to dance across the boy’s eyes. They’re practically glowing.

“Here you are,” Keith says.

The boy blinks up at him. “Could you?”

“Huh?”

The boy points to his ear. “Could you help me? I’m not really the best when it comes to accessories.”

“Neither am I to be honest,” Keith says. “But I can try.”

He kneels down, not caring about the probable grass stains on his knees now, coming eye to eye with the boy. His legs are stretched out in front of him, long and lithe.

“Could you come a little closer?” Keith asks.

The boy tucks his legs under the seat, causing himself to swing forward and nearly knock Keith in the stomach.

“Sorry!” he says, bringing a hand to his mouth.

Keith bites back a laugh. “Don’t worry. Now, come here and I’ll try to fix this…”

He finally looks down at the ornament, letting his fingers trail across the smooth surface. The facets reflect rainbow light across the walls.

“It’s made of glass,” he whispers.

“And why not?” the boy whispers back. His smile holds a secret.

It takes a few tries, but eventually, Keith manages to slip the ornament on the arch of the boy’s ear. Once its there, it sticks like glue, like it was always meant to be there.

Keith doesn’t stop to think before he tucks a stray strand of hair behind the boy’s ear, his fingers brushing along his freckled cheekbone.

He has freckles. _I want to kiss them._

“Thank you,” the boy says.

“Won’t you tell me who you are?” Keith asks.

The boy ducks his head, averting his gaze. “I don’t think you’ll like me very much if I do.”

Keith places a finger under the boy’s chin, bringing those blue eyes back to the moonlight.

“Can I at least know your name?” Keith whispers.

The boy licks his lips, his eyes searching Keith’s. “My name is –”

Just then, the clock began to strike the hour.

The boy stopped, looking out to the sound of the chimes. “I have to go,” he says, meeting Keith’s eyes once more before getting up off the swing.

“What?” Keith asks, standing now as well.

The boy is already halfway out the door when Keith calls, rather dumbly, “Where are you going?”

The boy peeps back through the doorway, the biggest grin on his face. “Thank you, Keith,” he says, eyes earnest. “This has been the most amazing night of my life. Just… thank you,” and then he’s gone.

Keith stumbles back, plopping down on the swing.

Did he just make that up? Did that really happen?

He looks out once more, hoping to see a glimpse of a blue-clad figure. No such luck.

Keith shakes his head in disbelief.

_No. No, I’m not letting him get away._

He stands up, sprinting out of the garden in search of his blue boy. It didn’t matter if he had to run all the way across the kingdom, Keith was going to find that boy, and he was going to learn his name. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find out how soft his lips really are.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: [@subtlehysteria](https://subtlehysteria.tumblr.com/) (I post mostly Voltron and Klance so drop by if you want)


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